Snow Day
by Tex-chan
Summary: Sometimes, when you're feeling less than human, and life is too much to take, just knowing someone cares and a day in the snow can make everything seem better. Short ... one-shot.


**Note:** I wrote this story as a gift for Omakase ... Her idea was the kernel of inspiration that led to this story. She did tell me I could post it ... before she saw the finished product. I hope she hasn't changed her mind. So ... Omakase ... if you're out there ... and you don't want this posted ... let me know! _tex-chan_

The car's tires made a soft, crunching noise as the steady, mind-numbing hum of smooth, hard asphalt highway gave way to gray-white gravel. Yohji paused for the smallest space of time --- a heartbeat, maybe less --- as he shifted the stolen car into a lower gear and headed it up the long, winding driveway that would take them to Villa Weiss.

Thick stands of trees shielded their destination from the highway. Even the driveway was grown over and hidden from view. If you didn't already know the villa existed, you weren't likely to find it just by passing by, which made it a perfect hiding place for men with dark secrets. The trees lining either side of the driveway were mostly evergreens, but some of them were hulking, leafless skeletons, stripped bare by the winter that had so recently come upon the land in full force. As the car entered the overgrown driveway, which was nothing more than two wheel ruts through the forest undergrowth, the trees seemed to close in around and above it. On other occasions, Yohji had thought of the forest as particularly ominous, especially when he had approached the villa in the dead of night, as they did now. But, tonight, the trees seemed welcoming, protective, like silent sentries who would zealously guard their passing from the rest of the world. Tonight, the dark, ominous forest promised rest and protection, two things that were rare and especially precious to the tall blonde, and to the man in the car with him.

Yohji glanced over, toward the passenger side of the car. Aya was there, leaning against the door, staring out the window. At least, Yohji thought he was staring out the window. The redhead might have been asleep. He couldn't tell in the dark, and was unwilling to break the tense, almost oppressive silence that had pervaded the car for the hour and a half it had taken them to travel from the city to Villa Weiss.

Aya was … Well, Yohji wasn't quite sure what Aya was, at the moment. He had become fairly skilled at reading his quiet friend during the time Aya had been with them, but, tonight, the swordsman was closed off, even to Yohji. It was almost like Aya wasn't even in the car with him, and that scared Yohji, probably more than anything else that had happened that night. He knew Aya was drained, mentally, physically, and emotionally. He knew the redhead was tired and hurting. And, if that had been it … if that had been the only reason for Aya's silence, Yohji probably wouldn't have worried. But, this … it wasn't normal, even for Aya.

The tall blonde couldn't help but remember the haunted, glazed-over expression in Aya's eyes as the redhead had tossed him the car keys after they had left the hospital. In response to the silent question on Yohji's face, Aya had shrugged and said he was too tired to drive. It was nothing, really. Yohji shook his head, chastising himself for being so silly. Of course, Aya was too tired to drive. He'd been up for almost seventy-two hours straight, planning the mission, and, then, after what had happened afterward... Well, anyone would be too damn tired to drive after that. But, still, Yohji kept seeing the haunted look in Aya's eyes. He kept hearing the dull, almost dead tone to the swordsman's voice. A bad feeling had been twisting its way through the tall blonde's stomach ever since Aya had tossed him those keys, and the hour and a half of tense, uncomfortable silence hadn't done anything to help it.

It had been a bad mission. They all were, but, even so, this one had been particularly miserable. They had been successful … but, "successful" and "miserable" can often co-exist, especially in Weiss's shadowy, nighttime world. Their target had been one of the worst so far --- a true beast of a beast, if such a thing could possibly exist. A man who had preyed on the weakest of the weak, luring young girls into what they thought were legitimate modeling careers and, then, selling them off to the highest bidder. There was no telling how many lives he had traded on the black market, selling innocence, purity, and futures as cheaply as if they had been so much junk. He had deserved Weiss's justice, delivered, in the end, at the point of Aya's sword.

Even that had been too good, too easy, for that man. Yohji had seen it in Aya's eyes, in the way the swordsman had stood there, over the target's headless body, silently cleaning his weapon. He had seen it in the way Aya threw the bloodied cloth down next to the corpse --- a sign of disrespect, a small, tangible symbol of the redhead's disgust and hatred. He had seen it in the way Aya had looked at him, icy-angry, blue-violet eyes boring into jade green for the briefest of moments before the swordsman turned, with a whirl of his coat and a swish of leather, and stalked from the room, without so much as a backward glance.

No, this time, the killing wasn't the miserable part. This time had been one of those rare occasions when the whole team agreed their target needed to be erased from the world. This time, the murder wouldn't haunt them … didn't seem like murder, even … not really. The miserable part had been the aftermath.

Omi and Ken hadn't been there. Yohji couldn't help but be thankful for that small bit of grace. The two youngest Weiss had worked outside the building, securing their entry, guarding their backs, and securing them safe passage back out once the deed was done. By the time everything had turned to shit, Omi and Ken had already radioed in, indicating successful completion of their mission and that they would rendezvous at the Koneko.

Yohji had stumbled upon the room by accident, while searching the building for their target's victims. His muffled, surprised cry of horror had been enough to send Aya sprinting from the kill zone. Two twisting, turning corridors later, the swordsman had pulled up, panting more from panic than exertion, to find Yohji standing in front of an open door, staring in horror at the carnage just inside the room.

There must have been over a hundred bodies, all young girls, all killed in the most brutal way imaginable. They tumbled over each other, a jumble of lifeless arms and legs, hundreds of sightless eyes staring out, begging for help, praying for rescue, for liberation, and protection, all of which had arrived too late. The stench of blood had been overpowering. Yohji had barely managed to hold back a gag as it rolled out of the room and seemed to pour over them. Even now, in the uneasy silence of their car, hours later, he could still catch whiffs of the smell on his clothes and in his hair. It coated him like some kind of cheap cologne, a stench that would follow him forever. He knew he would smell it, even in his nightmares.

The bodies had been bad enough. But, in a state of shock, Yohji had done the unforgivable. He had forgotten himself for a moment, forgotten his place in the twisted universe of evil Weiss inhabited, and had moved forward, into the room, ignoring Aya's sharp warning.

Everything after that was just a blur. Yohji figured he'd never remember it clearly: the sharp click as he had stumbled across the threshold; the silent, warning scream in his mind, which told him he had fucked up; looking up, briefly, to catch the shortest, most fleeting glimpse of hard, blue-purple eyes --- normally emotionless eyes suddenly filled with sheer terror; the swish and swirl of purple-black leather as Aya had shoved him, back and away from the room, just before the universe exploded in a thunderous booming clap, a roar of fire, and a rain of blood and body parts. Somehow, Aya had managed to push him out of the way just before the bomb went off, but the swordsman had taken the brunt of the explosion. The one thing Yohji remembered with a sick-edged clarity that made his stomach crawl was the way the explosion threw Aya against the corridor's far wall, the way the redhead had landed with a sickening crunch of bone that had seemed loud enough to drown out the groaning collapse of the building around them.

Yohji remembered grabbing Aya, pulling the younger man to his feet, and running through endless, twisting, turning corridors of flame, shielding his face from the suck and pull of fire and the hot wind that lapped at his hair, his clothes, and his boots. He remembered the sharp, acrid stench of melting leather and rubber as the fire did its work on their clothes and the bottoms of their shoes. It had taken ten lifetimes of eternities before they finally found a ground floor window, which Yohji broke, to release them, stumbling, choking, coughing, and gagging into the cold dark of a moonless winter night.

They had been lucky. Aya ended up with two broken ribs, but they were both alive. Most of the time, in their profession, walking away alive was all you could hope for. If you were still kicking at the end of it all, it counted as a successful day. At least, that's what Yohji had always believed. That's what he had always told himself. Now, though, an hour and a half into a stony, tense, unhealthy silence, the tall blonde couldn't help but wonder if coming out alive really was all that mattered.

Yohji sighed as the car crunched to a stop in front of the large house, bringing his thoughts back to the present. He glanced over toward Aya and, with another soft sigh, gently shook the redhead.

"Hey, Aya? You awake? We're here," Yohji said.

Aya's only response was to exit the vehicle with a soft grunt as he forced sore, protesting muscles and broken bones into action. Yohji stood on the driver's side of the car, one arm resting across its roof, his breath making icicle fog in the cold night air, and watched as the redhead turned, without so much as a backward glance, and stalked up the stairs and into the house. Yohji shook his head and sighed as he followed the quiet swordsman.

* * *

The phone only rang once before Omi's breathless voice came over the line, crackling a bit with static and the poor reception that plagued the area around the villa. The boy sounded like an old phonograph record or poor-quality recording --- tinny, small, and faraway.

"Yohji?"

"Yeah, it's me," Yohji responded.

He had paused on the last step, and, now, moved over to the edge of the porch. A thin sheet of ice coated the deck, and it cracked as he walked over it, careful of finding a solid foothold. Cold, brittle wood creaked and groaned under his weight as he crossed the deck and leaned on the rail, resting his weight on his elbows. Even at a time like this, the tall blonde couldn't help but feel a shock of awe and wonder pass through him as he took in the view.

Villa Weiss was about halfway up a mountain. The trees surrounding the house and below it were dark, almost shapeless, hulks and skeletons, barely touched by the dim glow of the stars. The building seemed to float in the midst of a whispering, undulating sea --- galaxies of stars above and a never-ending expanse of silver-tipped blackness below. As he stood there, shivering slightly in the dark cold of a frigid, moonless night, Yohji felt small and insignificant, like he'd been cast adrift in a vast, shadowy ocean. For the briefest second or two, the tall blonde forgot who and where he was as vertigo washed over him, and he gripped the porch railing with one hand, squeezing with enough force to turn knuckles white as bone strained against its prison of flesh.

"… the hell happened?" Omi asked. The tinny fear in his voice drew Yohji back, reminded the chain-smoking blonde who and where he was, and gave him a fresh sense of reality, which was enough to push the vertigo away.

"What?" Yohji asked, in return.

Omi sighed in irritation. There was a pause as the boy collected himself enough so that he could speak calmly, and then he repeated, "What the hell happened? We expected you home hours ago."

Yohji hesitated. It wasn't much, just a fraction of a heartbeat as he debated over the best way to explain how his stupidity had almost gotten Aya killed. But, it was enough to confirm something was wrong. He heard Omi's breathing quicken slightly.

"There was a … small … problem," Yohji finally replied.

"What kind of problem?" Omi persisted, his voice taking on a hard, suspicious edge.

Yohji sighed. Omi's voice told him there would be no skirting the issue, no escape from admitting his culpability in the fiasco that had ended this night. "I …" His voice faltered, trailed off, as he scrabbled for words. The tall blonde sighed, and started again. "There was an explosion … and a fire … after you guys left."

He paused. Anyone else would have taken that small space of empty air as the end of his explanation, but Omi knew better. The boy waited for him to continue, like some kind of dark confessor ready to hear all of his sins, and Yohji silently cursed the kid's perceptiveness. He was shaking now, trembling with the thought of how close they had come to dying tonight, how close Aya had come to dying at his hands, and for his mistake. Yohji gripped the phone until his fingers ached from the effort, and he could feel small paths of cold wet on his face as the hated tears spilled, unbidden and unwanted, from his eyes to slide beneath the rims of his sunglasses and freeze on his cheeks.

Finally, in a trembling, almost nonexistent voice, Yohji said, "I … I screwed up. Tripped a detonator."

Omi didn't need any additional explanation. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Yohji nodded, a useless gesture, before replying, "Yeah. We … were lucky. I'm fine. Aya … has two broken ribs."

There was a short pause as the boy digested this information. "You need us to pick you up, then? At the hospital?"

Another useless head shake before Yohji said, "No. We're at Villa Weiss. I think … I think we're going to stay here for a few days."

"Aya wanted to go to the villa?" Omi asked, his tone slightly incredulous.

"Well …" Yohji said, his voice hesitant.

He hadn't asked Aya, hadn't even discussed Villa Weiss with the redhead, but, somehow, he had just known it was what they both needed --- rest, seclusion, a safe haven, a place to forget what they had seen and what had almost happened. But, he didn't know how to explain this to Omi. How could he, when he didn't even understand it himself? How could he tell Omi that he didn't know what Aya had wanted, but, yet, he knew? It didn't make any sense, not even in Yohji's mind, and he damn sure knew Omi wouldn't be able to comprehend it. Still, Omi was family, and he owed the kid something --- some kind of attempt at an explanation, even if it did sound childish, lame, and unbelievable.

"I don't know," Yohji said. "I … I didn't really ask. I just sort of drove us here … but, he didn't complain. I think he expected it … sort of."

Yohji's words fumbled to a halt. He cursed himself. It sounded so stupid, so ridiculously childish, and yet, it wasn't. It was real, and terrifying --- as real and frightening as the dead exhaustion he'd seen in Aya's eyes, the heavy, suffocating silence that had traveled with them from the city. Aya needed this. He needed some time away from everything … some time away from "Aya", so that he could remember he was "Ran" underneath, so he could remember he was human, so he could remember that being alive was a good thing, even if you were Weiss. Yohji knew it, just as surely as he knew he'd chain smoke this sleepless night away after hanging up with Omi. He just didn't know how to make the kid know it, too. He prayed Omi would get it, that the young blonde would manage to see beyond his failure to express the feelings and, somehow, find the truth.

"But," Omi said, his voice trembling a bit as the full weight of understanding dawned on him, "he's all right, right? I mean … **really** all right?"

Yohji sighed, a tired, defeated sound. "I don't know," he said. His voice was quiet, all the exhaustion and fear of the night suddenly coming down on him. "Was he ever … I mean … all right? Was he ever **really** all right?"

Omi didn't say anything for a little while, as if he was thinking about Yohji's words, seeking an answer to the tall blonde's question. Finally, the boy said, "How long will you be there, do you think?"

"As long as it takes," Yohji replied.

* * *

Yohji lit his first cigarette of the night as soon as he hung up with Omi. He hadn't intended to, not right then, but, almost without him thinking about it, the phone had disappeared, back into its "home" in his inner coat pocket, only to be replaced by his lighter and pack of smokes. He didn't bother going inside, but lit up and stood, leaning casually against the deck railing, watching the darkness below him and the stars above as the smoke curled around his head and joined the icicle fog created by his breath. It was quiet --- the kind of quiet that creeps up during the night, when you know every living thing around you is sleeping and it feels like you're the only person in the world. The wind moaned and sighed softly through the trees. Yohji could hear the tiny, almost silent click-click of winter-bare branches moving and striking against each other, and the creak of frozen wood straining against the gentle wind. Somewhere off to the right, a small animal scurried through the leaves and dead underbrush. The tall blonde heard the soft, fluttery flap of wings, a brief, almost silent scrabble against air and earth, and the small, scurrying sound fell silent. His cigarette crackled, and his breath sounded big and loud as he blew stream after stream of smoke out into the crystal clear, frozen night.

He was cold. His hand trembled violently as he brought the cigarette to his lips, and shudders ran through his body as he shivered against the night. Yohji figured he should probably head into the house, too, before he caught pneumonia or something equally as stupid from standing out here in the freezing cold, but, at the same time, he knew the chill coursing through him had nothing to do with the temperature. He was cold from the inside --- had been, ever since he'd watched Aya crash into that wall, thrown there by the explosion his mistake had caused. The redhead's exhausted, heavy silence on the drive here had only spread the ice through his veins. Now that he stopped to think about it, Yohji figured he'd be cold for a long, long time to come.

He smoked slowly, in no hurry to go inside and face Aya. Yohji wasn't sure why. Maybe he was ashamed of the stupid mistake he'd made tonight. Maybe he didn't know how to thank Aya for saving his life, although it wasn't the first time. Maybe he couldn't figure out how to apologize for almost killing his best friend. It could have been any of these things, but Yohji suspected he tarried out on the porch, his only company the frozen stillness and huge galaxies of stars, because he was afraid. He was afraid of the haunted, dead look he'd seen in Aya's eyes, afraid of the tense, unbreakable silence that had fallen between them on the way here, and, for the first time in a long, long time, he didn't know what to say to help his friend. He wanted to make everything better for Aya, but he just didn't know how.

Yohji wasn't sure how long he stood out there. It could have been five minutes or an eternity. But, finally, the cigarette sputtered and crackled a bit louder as it reached the filter. Yohji sighed quietly and ran his hand through his hair as he flipped the butt onto the deck and stubbed it out under his boot. The hot embers hissed as they melted through the ice coating the porch.

He turned around and looked at the house behind him. Aya hadn't turned on any lights, and it was dark and quiet, just like the night. He wondered if Aya was already asleep, or if the redhead was just sitting there in the dark, staring at nothing and brooding. Either way, he couldn't stay out here much longer. He had to go inside, sooner or later. Yohji took a deep breath to steady his nerves and cat-walked across the icy-slick porch to the front door.

It squeaked, a halfhearted protest from rusty hinges, when he pulled it open and stepped inside. As he entered the villa, Yohji shivered. It was almost as cold in here as outside, and just as dark. He paused in the doorway, silhouetted against the huge, starry sky, while his eyes adjusted to the murky gloom. After a few seconds, the great room opened up before him, a huge sprawl of space. Three sofas clustered around the massive, stone fireplace at the far end of the room, and an immense, faded oriental rug occupied most of the floor space. If it had been light enough, Yohji would have seen the golden-brown glow of old wood peering out from under its edges. Two gaming tables, along with their accompaniment of chairs, occupied the room's far left and right corners. The tall blonde could barely make out their outlines in the shadow of the fireplace. Off to the right, separated from the front room by only a pass-through and bar, Yohji could see the kitchen, barely illuminated by the star glow that found its way through the villa's front windows. The silvery light reflected off the shiny surfaces, making the toaster, range, and table beneath the windows seem to glow with an unearthly, ethereal light. Just in front of the bar was a deeper patch of shadow --- the hallway leading to the villa's two bedrooms, both of which were large enough to easily accommodate two queen-size beds. Usually, when they camped out at the villa, Yohji and Aya roomed together, as did Omi and Ken. Tonight, though, the tall blonde expected his silent friend would want more privacy than that type of slumber party atmosphere could provide.

Yohji tripped over something as he moved into the room. He bent down and retrieved the object, holding it up for closer inspection as he squinted through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. It was Aya's boot. The tall blonde frowned as he tossed it aside. It landed somewhere off to the left, a small thump in the room's darker shadows. He moved three more steps before tripping over the second one, which he also picked up and tossed aside. Yohji took a closer look in front of him, and saw Aya's trench, a darker smudge puddled against the dim gray of the old rug. He retrieved it, too, and laid it across the nearest sofa as he passed by, moving ever closer to the fireplace.

Yohji stopped in front of the massive, stone monument. Just as the trail of discarded clothing had indicated, Aya was there. The redhead still wore the black, sleeveless tee and tight, dark leather pants that made up the rest of his wet work ensemble. He was asleep, curled up in front of the fireplace, lying on his side, one hand bent to his chest, and the other resting on the floor, near his face. He shivered slightly, curling more into himself for warmth, and Yohji could see goose bumps standing out on his arms.

The tall blonde frowned. He hadn't expected this, and he couldn't help but wonder what the hell it meant. Aya was exhausted, and, probably, pumped full of painkillers from the hospital. All the same, Yohji had expected the redhead to retreat to one of the two bedrooms, to sleep and brood behind the closed door, like he usually did. Maybe Aya's energy had just given out here, and he'd been too damn tired to make it any further. But, maybe it meant the redhead didn't want to be alone. Yohji wasn't sure.

He hunkered down beside his sleeping friend, resting his weight back on his heels, and, ever so gently, shook the swordsman. "Aya … hey, Aya? Aya? You really wanna sleep out here?"

There was no response. Aya was done, dead to the world, and Yohji gave up on waking him. He knew it was no use. He stood and stretched, sighing a bit in relief as tense, aching muscles flexed and, then, relaxed. He looked down at Aya once more before moving further into the chilly dark of Villa Weiss, down the hall, and into the first bedroom.

Yohji returned in a few minutes, carrying a down comforter, which he had pulled off one of the beds. He settled it over Aya, gently folding it around the injured man, careful not to jar his broken ribs in the process. Aya sighed contentedly as the warmth closed around him. He snuggled down into the blanket's folds with a soft, satisfied grunt, until only part of his hair and the tip of his nose was visible. Yohji shook his head, laughing softly. He couldn't help it. Aya looked like a small, sick, exhausted child, and nothing like the deadly assassin he was. Yohji was amazed at the change. He had spent more than his fair share of time watching over the sleeping redhead, but he never ceased to wonder at how his silent friend laid down as "Aya", but, as soon as he was asleep, became "Ran". It was a small glimpse of the boy Aya had been, and of the man he might have become, if it hadn't been for Reiji Takatori and Kritiker. Yohji hadn't ever stopped to figure out exactly why, but it always made him a little sad.

Once Aya was warm and comfortable, Yohji retreated back to the porch, where he retrieved a sizable pile of wood. He moved carefully through the dark room, stepping around the boots he had tossed aside earlier, and, once he returned to the fireplace, around Aya's sleeping figure, to deposit the logs on the broad, stone hearth. They tumbled from his arms with a hollow, thudding sound that seemed loud in the villa's still, nighttime silence, and Yohji looked behind him, a quick, guilty glance, to see if the noise had awakened his exhausted friend. Aya slept on, undisturbed. Working by feel in the dark, Yohji quickly laid and lit a fire. Within minutes, a soft, orange-red glow illuminated most of the room, and the temperature began to creep upward.

Yohji crouched in front of the hearth and held his hands out, warming his palms over the open flames. Normally, he loved a roaring fire in the fireplace. The orange glow was welcoming, comfortable, and it reminded him of times when he'd gone camping with his dad as a boy --- happy memories. Usually, a roaring, crackling fire made the place feel like home. But, tonight, Yohji couldn't find any comfort in the flames. They reminded him of the explosion, and the greedy, licking tongues of destruction that had almost sucked Aya down into eternity.

The tall blonde shook his head, ridding it of those thoughts. There would be time enough to replay what had happened. He was sure he'd see it in his nightmares, probably for the rest of his life. He stood and retreated to the nearest sofa, sinking gratefully into its soft, welcoming depths. It was close enough to the fireplace that he could rest his feet on the hearth, and he did that, slouching down into the couch and leaning his head against its back. He removed his sunglasses and tossed them to the side, where they disappeared between two of the cushions.

Yohji wanted a nice, long, hot shower, but he didn't want to leave Aya. It was stupid, really. He knew Aya was down for the count. It was obvious the redhead wouldn't wake up until tomorrow, if then, but, still, that dead, exhausted look in Aya's eyes and the tense, ominous silence in the car haunted the tall blonde. The memories of those things wouldn't let him move from this spot. He could shower later, once Aya was up and he knew his friend was all right. For now, the tall blonde settled for lighting another cigarette. The smoke curled around his head in long, wispy tendrils as he stared into the fire and settled in for a long night of watching and waiting.

* * *

Aya slept for two days. Yohji woke him twice for food and once for a shower and change of clothes. Other than that, the redhead didn't budge from his down nest in front of the fireplace. Yohji made sure the fire stayed lit, and the villa took on a warm, cozy, almost homey, atmosphere against the winter backdrop surrounding it. The wind howled outside, accompanied by the quiet clicking of ice-covered branches, and the creaking, protesting groans of frozen trees. But, inside, it was quiet. The only sounds were the crackling and thumping of the logs as they burned and fell away in the fireplace, the occasional whistle of the kettle as it heated on the stove, and the small, crackling noise of Yohji's cigarette as he smoked and watched over his injured friend. The orange-red glow of the fire cast a soft illumination over everything, and the smells of soup and hot chocolate made the villa seem warm and inviting, a safe haven against the winter that raged outside.

By the third day, Yohji had had his fill of sitting around in filthy clothes crusted with dried blood, and he decided he had to take a shower. He had wanted to wait until Aya was awake. He didn't know why, exactly, but he just hated the thought of Aya waking up alone. It was a silly feeling, really. He knew Aya's injuries weren't that serious, and the redhead wasn't in any real danger. Still, the memory of Aya's haunted, dead-exhausted eyes and the heavy silence that had hung between them in the car made him uneasy, edgy. Yohji knew it was that memory that had kept him glued to this sofa, sleeping very little, for the past three days. He knew it was foolish, and, yet, the thought that Aya was, somehow, suffering in a way he couldn't understand ate away at him. He had always felt protective of the quiet man, had, against all odds, taken an almost instant liking to Aya, and now, Yohji felt that protective streak kick into high gear. It wasn't rational. It wasn't normal. Yet, it was there, and very real. Nothing else could have forced him to hold down this couch for as long as he had. Nothing else could have forced him to sit around in blood- and gore-covered clothing that made his skin crawl. Only Aya. He wouldn't have done it for anyone else, not even Omi or Ken.

Yohji sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into the cupped palms of his hands. He was tired and, he realized now, more than a little scared. But, he was also tired of feeling that way. And, more than that, he was sick of feeling less than human. So, that settled it. A nice, long, hot shower would go a long way toward making him feel like a human being again. He glanced over at his sleeping companion. Aya had barely moved for the past two days. He was still hunkered down in the middle of that quilt, only his hair and a little part of his face visible beneath the fluffy material.

'He's not gonna wake up anytime soon,' Yohji reasoned. 'I won't be long … probably be back before he wakes up. He'll never even know I was gone.'

Yohji pushed himself off the sofa, satisfied that he'd, at least, managed to make a decision. He stood with a small groan, stretching to relieve the kinks in muscles that had been sitting in one position for too long. He winced as his back gave an especially painful twinge, and his neck popped.

"Sleeping on that sofa is fucking uncomfortable," he said, glancing over at Aya, as if he expected the sleeping man to suddenly wake up and respond. He sighed when Aya did nothing more than shift closer to the fire and snuggle further into the comforter with an irritated, little grunt. "I'm too old for this shit, you know," he continued. "I hope you fucking appreciate it, at least." Yohji sighed and shook his head. "Of course, you probably don't appreciate it … You wouldn't be "you", if you did." The tall blonde couldn't help but smile a little at that last thought. He didn't know why; he just found it amusing.

Yohji stretched again and quietly moved toward the bathroom, shedding one piece of filth-encrusted clothing after another as he walked. He dropped them on the floor wherever he took them off, leaving a trail of dirty, blood-crusted black clothes from the sofa all the way to the bathroom. By the time he reached the bath, he was clad only in his boxers and socks. He kicked the socks off and tossed them aside, sparing one last glance toward Aya just before he ducked into the bathroom.

'You know,' Yohji thought, 'It'd be just like you to wake up while I'm in here … I swear, you fucking do shit like that on purpose.'

The tall blonde sighed again, shook his head, and quickly, before he could talk himself out of it, entered the bathroom for the hot shower he so richly deserved.

* * *

Yohji shivered as he emerged from the bathroom in the midst of a cloud of steam. The villa was warm, thanks to the huge fire that had been roaring, nonstop, in the fireplace for the past three days. But, compared to the tropical rain forest atmosphere his steaming shower had created, it was downright frigid. Yohji wore nothing but a towel, wrapped low around his waist, and he shivered again as he ran a hand through his damp hair. He hadn't ever liked dressing in the bathroom. The steam made it too damn hard to get into all those clothes, but, now, standing in the chilly hallway, wrapped in nothing but a towel, and with wet hair, to boot, he regretted not taking his clothes with him when he went in to shower.

He glanced over toward the fireplace and frowned, feeling a sharp stab of panic lace through his heart when he realized Aya was gone. Yohji sighed and told himself not to panic. A missing Aya didn't always have to mean something dire and horrible. Well, normally, it did mean just that, but Yohji told himself it didn't have to. He forced himself to remain calm and stepped a bit further out into the living room, just far enough so that he could get a good view of the whole room, the kitchen, and the windows lining the villa's front exposure.

He couldn't help but feel relieved when he saw Aya through the windows. The redhead was on the porch, his back to the house. It looked like he was standing at the rail, just staring at the view, but Yohji couldn't tell for sure. At any rate, it seemed like Aya wasn't going anywhere.

'Just like I thought … fucking does it on purpose. It's like he waited until I was in the shower to get up. Fucking bastard,' Yohji thought. But, there was a smile on his face as he turned away from the living room, to travel the short distance down the hall to the first bedroom on the right, the one he shared with Aya whenever Weiss stayed at the villa.

Yohji didn't bother turning on the light as he entered the bedroom. There was a large window over one of the beds, and its curtains stood open. Winter-grey light, the kind of flat light you get when the sky is clouded over and the color of old lead, filtered through and illuminated the room. It was dim, but Yohji didn't have any problem seeing, even with his sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He moved across the room to the closet and fumbled around in its dark recesses, searching for the stash of clothing he knew was there. Kritiker had several "safe" houses around Japan, mostly for Weiss's use, in the event a mission went wrong and they couldn't return to their home base, although Yohji knew some of the organization's other teams used them occasionally, too. Weiss camped in these hiding spots so frequently that the team members kept a stash of clothing at each and every one of them, including Villa Weiss, which they used most often as a retreat.

As he pulled on a fresh pair of boxers, a pair of black jeans that were stiff and crackly from the cold, and a heavy, warm, blue cashmere turtleneck, Yohji couldn't help but think that he probably had a fortune in clothes stashed in various places around Japan. It almost seemed like a waste, but they never knew when they might have to duck into hiding at a moment's notice. And, once the mission was done, the first order of business, no matter where they ended up, was always a shower and a clean change of clothes. It was a small thing, he supposed, but being able to wash off the blood and gore did make him feel like a human being, instead of some kind of murdering animal. So, in that respect, it was worth the expense of having clothing scattered all over the country, just on the off chance he might need them.

Yohji shuddered slightly, reveling in the sudden warmth of the sweater and jeans next to his chilled skin. He ran his fingers through his still-damp hair. It was almost dry now. For a moment, Yohji stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. He didn't really care what he looked like. He was just stalling, trying to avoid talking to Aya. It was stupid, and he felt foolish, especially when he couldn't figure out exactly why he didn't want to approach the redhead. Maybe he was still embarrassed about the mistake he had made three days ago. Or, maybe, he just didn't know what to say to his quiet friend. At any rate, Yohji knew he couldn't avoid it forever. He took a deep breath to work up his courage, and, with his mind made up, turned to exit the room. He had left the wet towel crumpled on the floor in front of the closet, and he kicked it aside as he passed. It flew through the air and landed, with a soft "splat" on top of the dresser which stood to one side of the door.

* * *

Aya stiffened slightly as he heard the door open behind him. Yohji knew him well enough to realize something was bothering him, although he was pretty sure the tall blonde hadn't figured out exactly what was wrong. He probably would, given time. The older man was incredibly perceptive, and Yohji knew him better than anyone else. It was inevitable that the chain-smoking playboy would come out here, to talk, and to try and feel him out, to figure out exactly what was wrong. Yohji believed he could make everything better, if he only knew what the problem was. It was one of the qualities that had drawn Aya to the tall blonde, one of the things he admired the most about this man who had, somehow, become his closest friend. He wanted Yohji to be here. The older man's presence made him feel calmer, somehow, like everything really would be all right. And, yet, he was afraid to talk to Yohji. He wanted, so desperately, to believe Yohji could make everything all right, that the older man could vanquish all the demons for him. But, at the same time, he was terrified of finding out Yohji couldn't do any of those things. If that was the case, it meant there was no hope, that nothing would be right again, and that the demons had, finally, won.

Yohji frowned as he pulled the door closed behind him. He stood there for several long moments, silently watching Aya's back. The redhead hadn't turned around or acknowledged his presence in any way, but Yohji knew the younger man realized he was there. He had seen the slight stiffening of Aya's back, that almost imperceptible tensing of muscles that told him his friend wanted to talk, and, yet, didn't want to. It was, pretty much, what he had expected. He had dealt with this attitude so many times, and, normally, he'd feel perfectly comfortable just jumping in with both feet. But, this time, Yohji wasn't sure how to approach Aya. This time, there seemed to be a gulf between them, and he didn't how to breach it.

"Hey," Yohji called, as he moved across the deck toward the younger man. He had to be careful of his footing, as a thin sheet of ice still coated the porch. One false step, and he'd fall, for sure.

Aya didn't say anything, but he glanced sideways, an almost imperceptible shifting of his eyes, as Yohji came to stand beside him. The tall blonde shrugged. All told, he figured it was the closest thing to an actual response he was going to get. At least the redhead hadn't retreated back into the house at the first sign of his presence. Yohji took that as a positive sign. He had carried the down comforter and two steaming mugs, coffee for himself and tea for Aya, outside with him, and he balanced the cups in a delicate, one-handed feat of manual dexterity, managing to pull the fluffy material around Aya's shoulders without spilling even a drop of hot liquid in the process. The swordsman had come outside dressed only in a long-sleeve T-shirt and jeans. Yohji spared a glance downward, and felt almost stupidly glad to see that Aya had, at least, put on shoes.

"Here," Yohji said, holding a steaming cup out toward his silent friend.

Aya had accepted the comforter without comment, but Yohji knew he was grateful for the warmth because he pulled it around himself and held it in place with one hand. Now, he reached out for the hot mug with a shy half-smile. He sniffed the hot liquid and cupped the mug in his free hand as he turned back toward the scenery around the villa.

"Green tea," Yohji said, more to fill in a bit of the silence than to actually explain what was in the cup. When Aya just glanced over at him, Yohji felt a little uncomfortable at having started their conversation with something so lame, but, yet, he couldn't stop himself from adding, "You had some left … you know … from the last time we were all up here. Seemed like it was still good. I guess it doesn't go stale or anything."

When Aya didn't make any effort to reply, other than taking a sip from the cup, Yohji turned his attention to the view. He placed his own steaming mug, full of coffee, on the rail in front of him. It melted the ice around it in an expanding circle. It was a lot quieter out now than it had been in the past three days. The howling wind had finally stopped, and, with it, the incessant clicking of icy branches and protesting groans of the trees. It was close to noon, but the sky was a lead gray, and full of clouds that blocked the sun from view. Sunlight still filtered down, but it was the flat, dull, gray sunlight Yohji had always associated with winter. He hadn't realized it when he was inside, but it was snowing. From the looks of their surroundings, Yohji guessed it had probably snowed for most of the night. Everything, for as far as he could see, was covered in mounds of white. The shapes of the road, trees, and bushes were there, but it was almost impossible to tell what they really were underneath their dusting of snow. It was like a fairy tale, where someone waves their magic wand and everything is, somehow, made new, changed into something grander or more beautiful than it originally was. Snow had already piled up on the deck and its railing, and in huge drifts below the villa. Flurries of flakes continued to drift down from the gray clouds above, adding to the winter wonderland. They fell into Yohji's coffee, causing little wisps of steam to rise up into the air as they melted. He could feel them dissolving on his hands and face and in his hair, and, within minutes, his sunglasses were spotted with water droplets from the melted flakes. He glanced sideways at Aya, and saw a liberal dusting of snow in the younger man's hair. Some of it had melted, creating darker blotches of red dampness, but most of it remained frozen as glittering crystals. A few flakes even caught on Aya's eyelashes. The redhead ignored them, and Yohji had to fight the urge to brush them away. Instead, he stood there silently, shoulder-to-shoulder with Aya, sipping his coffee and watching the snow.

"It's quiet," Aya said, after several minutes. The sound of his voice seemed loud in the snow's wintry silence, and Yohji jumped slightly. He hadn't really expected Aya to say anything.

Yohji glanced over at his friend. Aya wasn't looking at him. The redhead was staring straight ahead, and Yohji could almost convince himself the words had been in his imagination. He shrugged and continued to watch the snow drift down and change everything in its path. After several moments, he replied, "Yeah … Yeah, I guess it is."

Silence fell between them again. Yohji slurped at his coffee and frowned when he discovered the snow had cooled it to the point of tastelessness. He tossed the cup's contents over the banister. The coffee made a dark blotch, marring the white perfection below them, and Yohji regretted his thoughtless action. The snow was forgiving, though. It continued to fall, and, within a few minutes, had covered up the coffee, wiping out Yohji's thoughtless mistake as if it had never existed. The tall blonde couldn't help but wish it was that easy to wipe away all of the stupid things he had done in his life. He wondered if Aya felt the same way, and he wanted to ask, but, at the same time, he didn't feel comfortable doing so.

The silence stretched and grew stronger, until Yohji knew he was going to have to break it. If he let it continue for much longer, it would be too late to say anything, and he couldn't let this chance pass him by. He had to do something to make amends for the stupid mistake three days ago, which still haunted him. He was afraid Aya was mad at him, and he couldn't let that stand between them. He took a deep breath, letting the icy air fill his lungs and brace his courage.

"I'm … I'm really sorry, Aya. For being so stupid … on the mission. I know you're probably pissed as hell, and I don't blame you. I … I wish I could make it up to you, somehow. Like, I could just go back and do it over again, so that I could do the right thing. But … I … I can't. And, I … well, I just can't stand you being pissed at me like this," he said. The words came fast, all in a jumble, as Yohji rushed through his thoughts without really focusing on them. If he slowed down to think about what he was saying, he was afraid he'd lose his courage, so he just plowed on ahead and tried to ignore how stupid he sounded.

Aya didn't say anything, didn't even turn to look at him, and Yohji felt his heart fall and his stomach clench. He'd been right. The younger man was angry, and, as with any disagreement he had with his touchy friend, Yohji wondered if this one would be the one that would fracture their friendship beyond repair. He was afraid Aya might not be able to forgive the mistake that had almost cost him his life. Yohji brushed some of the snow from his hair by running his fingers through the damp, tangled tendrils. He was about to turn away, to go back inside, when Aya's voice stopped him.

"I … I wasn't mad at you. Not ever. Not at all," Aya said. His voice was so quiet it was almost lost in the silent snowfall, but there was a note of disbelief in the words, as if Aya was surprised that Yohji had ever thought he was mad.

"But …" Yohji stammered, unsure how he should proceed, "You were so quiet … in the car, and the way you looked at me…" His voice trailed off, lost in a sudden, choking sob that seemed to come out of nowhere and slip through his lips. "You … you could've been killed. I almost … I almost killed you. I just thought …"

"I was … afraid," Aya said. His voice was almost inaudible, and he sounded small, and embarrassed.

He looked up at Yohji, and the tall blonde was surprised to see tears shining in Aya's eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Aya cry. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember ever seeing Aya cry. He felt like he should do or say something, but he didn't know what. His heart screamed at him to move toward his friend, to comfort Aya somehow, but the uncertainty that had grabbed hold of his mind and twisted his stomach into knots forced him to stay put.

Aya continued on, unaware of Yohji's dilemma. It was as if, now that he had started talking, he couldn't stem the flow of words. They took on a life of their own and tumbled from his lips without him wanting them to, or even being fully aware of what he was saying. Yohji knew his friend was running on pure emotion now. It was something he didn't see very often, and it never failed to frighten him. He was afraid the Aya he knew might disappear in the tide of feeling and never return, and that was something Yohji didn't think he could live with.

"I … I was afraid … for you. Afraid you would be … afraid you would die. I … I couldn't stand that. I'm always … afraid. Afraid of not being there in time. This time, I almost wasn't. And … I was … ashamed, too. All those girls. All those dead girls, and I didn't even notice them, not really. They weren't even real to me. All I could think of was getting to you, of getting you out of the way … and … it never even occurred to me to think of those innocent victims. I … I didn't even care about what had happened to them."

He glanced up, to see Yohji watching him with a shocked, questioning look on his face, and sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He dropped the comforter as he did so, but neither of them moved to pick it up. It lay behind him, crumpled on the snowy deck, as the flakes continued to drift down silently, relentlessly, determined to obscure this thing, too.

"Don't you get it?" Aya asked, his voice filled with frustration and anger, his eyes begging Yohji to understand. "You … cared about them. That's why you went into that room. You cared what had happened to them. I … I didn't. I'm … It's like I'm not even human anymore. I'm no better than the men we hunt … no better than the murderers we bring to Kritiker's justice." He looked away, and said, his voice so small and lost that it tore at Yohji's heart, "I … I can't even feel any more. It's like I'm completely gone. I'm … I'm already gone … dead inside … and just waiting for someone to come along and finish the job … or to have the courage to do it myself."

He turned back to face Yohji, only to find the tall blonde staring at him, speechless, a stunned expression on his face. Yohji couldn't believe he was hearing this, not from Aya, but the redhead mistook his shock for horror or disapproval. With a small, choked-back sob, he turned and stumbled for the stairs at the edge of the deck. Aya's sudden break for freedom galvanized Yohji into action. He was still stunned at the younger man's revelation. He didn't know what to say or do. He wasn't sure what the redhead would accept from him, but he couldn't let Aya leave. If he let Aya get away, he'd never see him again. He wasn't conscious of the thought. It was just there, an instinctive knowledge born from his close friendship with the younger man.

Yohji darted forward. He slipped and almost fell on the snow-crusted deck, but he managed to grab Aya's wrist and bring the fleeing man to a halt.

"Aya!" he hissed, giving a firm tug on the younger man's arm. It was almost enough to unbalance Aya, and the redhead's feet splayed crazily for a moment as he sought to regain his balance on the icy wood.

"Don't," Yohji said. He tugged on the redhead's wrist again, forcing Aya to look him in the face. "Don't," he repeated, "Don't run away. Not now … not from me. Please."

He waited for a moment as he watched Aya battle with himself. He knew it was taking an almost Herculean act of will to keep the redhead rooted to this spot, and he held his breath as the battle raged. It was only an instant, the span of one, maybe two, heartbeats, but, to Yohji, it seemed to stretch on into eternity. Finally, he saw Aya regain control, and he let out the breath he'd been holding --- a soft sigh of relief.

"You're not human, Aya … not when you're working," Yohji said. He regretted the choice of words when he saw Aya stiffen slightly and look away, as if he was too ashamed to meet Yohji's eyes. The tall blonde continued on, hoping what he had to say would, somehow, get through to his friend, "None of us are. Not me … not Ken … not even Omi. We … we can't be. You're no different … no different than the rest of us. I didn't care about those girls, either. All I could think about was how stupid I'd been … how I'd walked into such an obvious, stupid trap. For the past three days, I've been sitting in there, watching you sleep, worrying about you, and remembering how I almost got you killed. How I almost killed you. Every time I close my eyes, I see you getting tossed against that fucking wall by the explosion … I hear the sound of your bones breaking. I haven't thought about those girls … not one fucking time. Do you understand? You're no different … no different than me."

Aya shook his head, "No … you went in there … you went into that room."

Yohji gripped the redhead's wrist hard enough that he could feel the bones under his fingers, as he hissed, "Fuck that! It didn't have anything to do with me caring about those dead girls. I was just … surprised … shocked … Fuck! I … I don't even know why I went in there. But you went in, too … You went in after me. I … I would be dead now, if you hadn't been there. If what you think is true … if you really weren't human, you'd never have done that. You wouldn't care about anyone or anything … and you do."

Yohji paused. He watched Aya and tried to gauge whether his words were having any impact, whether he was getting through to the younger man. He couldn't tell. The emotions were still warring through Aya's eyes and across his face, but Yohji couldn't tell what the redhead was thinking.

So, he plunged on, hoping and praying that his words would get through, that the sound of his voice would be enough to anchor Aya to reality, to keep his friend with him.

"Everyone's afraid, Aya. Fuck … I'm afraid all the fucking time. Every time we go on a mission … every time I watch you take on a target or one of those psychotic assholes from Schwarz … I'm scared shitless. I was afraid on this last mission, too … afraid when I saw that explosion hit you. Fuck … I thought, for sure, you were dead, and I'm not strong enough to live with that. Then, after … I was afraid you were mad at me … that things could never be "normal" between us again … afraid you weren't really all right, even though you said you were … afraid of the expression I saw in your eyes and on your face, of the way you were so quiet in the car on the way up here. Fuck, Aya … I was afraid … I was afraid you were gone, for good, you know? You can't … you can't ever think that you're dead inside … please, Aya. Please don't think those things. You're _**you**_ … you're "Aya" … but, you're still "Ran", too. You have to remember that … please, try to hang onto that. If you …"

Yohji's voice trailed off for a moment. He found it hard to even think about Aya dying, and the emotions welled up inside him, threatening to choke off his words. But, he had to say it. He had to finish what he had started. Aya needed to hear it. So, he took a deep breath, and forced the words out. "If you do something stupid … if you let someone end it during a mission … or you do it yourself … I … I couldn't live with that, Aya. None of us wants to be in a world where you don't exist. I … I can't live in that kind of place. Besides, you can't do it. I won't let you … and you owe me."

In response to the question he saw in Aya's eyes, Yohji said, "You owe me your life. You owe me your existence … because … because I love you. I love you, man. It's as simple as that."

Aya's face crumpled and his body shook as the emotions he'd been holding back rushed to the surface and spilled out of him. His knees seemed to turn to jelly, and he collapsed. But, Yohji was there to catch him. The tall blonde pulled Aya to him and enveloped him in a hug. He sank to the ground, pulling the redhead down with him, and held his friend as Aya sobbed out all the pain, all the exhaustion, all the fear, all the frustration he'd held inside for so long. He knew, now, this was what Aya had needed, all along --- someone to care, no matter what, someone to value his life for more than what he could do for them, someone to love him, no matter who or what he was. He knew Aya well enough to know that they'd never speak of this again, but he also knew neither of them would be embarrassed or awkward about it. And, he thought that, maybe, the next time Aya felt this way, he would remember someone cared.

Aya cried for a long time. He hated himself for being so weak, but, once the tears started to flow, he just couldn't stop them. So, he clung to Yohji, his hands fisted in the tall blonde's sweater, his tears soaking Yohji's clothes. The feel of Yohji's strong arms around him was comforting, as was the older man's scent --- stale cigarette smoke, old booze, and hints of perfume left by various women. Aya hated that, too --- hated that he needed this friend, hated that he could be comforted by someone's presence like this. He felt it was a sign of weakness, and, on some level, a betrayal of his family, in whose name he had sworn vengeance. But, he couldn't help it. In the end, he was human, just like Yohji said --- nothing more, nothing less. Not some invincible, emotionless super-hero, but just a man, with the same fears and uncertainties all men have.

* * *

When Aya's sobs finally trailed off, and he stopped shaking, the two men moved apart, although they still sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the cold porch, feeling the sting of melting ice-water soak through their jeans. Aya dried his face, and brushed some of the snow out of his hair and off his shoulders. It didn't do much good, though, as the flurries continued to float down on them. Almost as soon as he removed one dusting of white, another was there to take its place. Yohji shivered slightly.

"Fuck … it's cold out here." He grinned at Aya, a lopsided, crooked, little-boy smile, and said, "Next time you have an emotional break down, let's do it someplace warm, 'kay?"

Aya shook his head, but the redhead smiled, too, and grabbed the comforter he'd dropped earlier. He shook the snow off of it, pulled it around himself, and offered half to Yohji. The tall blonde took the offered side and pulled it over his shoulders.

"When do you think the others are gonna get here?" Aya asked, his voice quiet.

They hadn't discussed Omi and Ken coming up to the villa. And, Omi and Ken hadn't called to say they were coming. Omi hadn't given any indication of it when Yohji had talked to him three days ago. But, Yohji and Aya both knew their teammates well enough to know it was only a matter of time before they'd show up. Omi wouldn't be able to wait at home, not knowing whether or not everything was all right with his surrogate family. And, Ken would never let Omi come by himself.

Yohji shrugged, "Any time, I'd expect. It's been three days, already. I'm surprised Omi's waited this long … and Ken … well, if he's heard about the snow…"

"Snow boarding," Aya said, cutting Yohji's sentence off.

Yohji nodded. "Yep … that fucking idiot. He never could resist a chance to snowboard. It's a wonder he doesn't break a leg or something worse. He's such a moron." The words were harsh, but Yohji's smile revealed his true feelings.

The tall blonde shivered again. "Look … it's fucking cold out here. And, my ass is frozen from sitting on this damn porch. I'm going inside." He stood, leaving the comforter with Aya, and started walking toward the door. Just before he reached it, he paused, and, with a shrug and an almost embarrassed tone to his voice, said, "You know … before … when I said I loved you. I mean … well, I didn't mean **_love_** love, you know? I mean … I didn't mean it **_that_** way."

Aya laughed, a sound so rare that it actually made Yohji turn around and stare at the redhead. He frowned, a little irritated that his friend wasn't taking this more seriously.

"What the fuck's so damn funny?" Yohji snapped.

Aya shook his head, unable to reply at first through the laughter. Finally, he got it under control enough to choke out, "You're such a fucking homophobe … I'da thought you would be so much more open minded." Then, his expression turned deadly serious, and he finished in a small, almost hurt voice, "Besides … I'm not such a bad catch, you know." He glanced up to see Yohji's speechless, shocked expression, and he couldn't help laughing again. "Lighten up, Yohji! I'm not gay, all right? Fuck … even if I was … I'd never go out with you. I know where you've been, and it's not pretty."

Yohji frowned. He wasn't sure whether he should be hurt or relieved at Aya's confession, but he said, "But … I've never seen you with … I thought that maybe … I mean, I don't care, you know …"

"I'm discreet, Yohji … not gay. Just because you've never seen me with a woman doesn't mean I'm not with any women."

Yohji couldn't think of anything to say other than a small, almost nonexistent, "Oh." He frowned again, and turned back toward the door. As his hand hit the knob, he stopped again, and asked, "What women? Not … not the waitress at the coffee shop on the corner, right? What's her name … Claudia or something like that? Not … her … you know, the one that wears the red uniform with the garters showing. Not her, right?"

He jumped as a snowball hit him square in the face. As he shook the snow off his sunglasses and out of his hair, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Aya's expression. The redhead looked downright smug. If Yohji hadn't known better, he'd have thought Aya was smirking. And, the younger man looked quite satisfied with himself. That expression told Yohji everything he needed to know, and he whirled on his red-haired friend.

"You bastard!" he yelled, as he tackled Aya. "You fucking bastard!" He wrestled the redhead into one of the deeper drifts at the edge of the deck. He was careful not to jar Aya's broken ribs, but he grabbed a handful of snow, and ground it into the younger man's hair. "I've been asking her out for months … and all this time … and she always tells me no. And, all this time you've …" He growled in frustration, scooped up more snow, and put it down the back of Aya's shirt. "You fucking bastard!"

Aya couldn't defend himself. He was laughing too hard. He squirmed and writhed under Yohji's weight, trying to get away from the snow the tall blonde continued to shove in his face, his hair, and down his shirt. In the end, it was a losing battle. He couldn't stop laughing long enough to retaliate or protect himself. Yohji was cursing him and practically burying him in snow, but the tall blonde was laughing, too. They were so caught up in their impromptu wrestling match that neither of them heard the crunch of tires on the driveway, or the slamming of car doors, or the thudding steps of two pairs of feet ascending the stairs.

Omi reached the top of the stairs to find Yohji and Aya in a snowdrift, screaming, laughing, and wrestling. The blonde and redhead were a mixed jumble of arms and legs as they struggled for supremacy in their own, private snow war. It looked like Aya was losing, though. The redhead was on the bottom, and couldn't do more than laugh as Yohji stuffed snow in his face, down his shirt, and in his hair. Omi couldn't help but smile. He had been worried after Yohji's phone call, but, seeing them like this, he knew everything was all right.

"What the fuck?" Ken asked, as he finally reached the deck, to stand behind Omi and look down at his two snowbound teammates.

Aya and Yohji broke apart at the sound of Ken's voice. They were still sitting in the snowdrift, and they looked up at the new arrivals with guilty expressions, like little kids caught doing something they know they shouldn't. Omi couldn't help but laugh at the looks on their faces. Aya shook snow out of his hair and shrugged at Ken, the glare on his face daring the ex-goalie to say something.

Ken never had cared much about Aya's moods, and he bumbled on ahead as if the ice-purple death glare didn't even exist. "What the fuck are you guys doing?"

Yohji shrugged and leaned back, resting his weight on the palms of his hands in a nonchalant posture. "We're having a snow day, Kenken. What's it look like? Everyone needs to play in the snow sometime, don't you think?"

Ken stared at the two oldest Weiss for a few seconds. Then he shrugged and turned toward the door with a muttered, "Fucking … morons."

Just as he entered the house, a snowball smashed into the back of his head. He whirled around and speared his two older teammates with an angry glare.

"All right! Which one of you fuckheads did that?!" he shouted, pointing at the two oldest Weiss.

Yohji pointed at Aya, indicating the redhead had thrown the traitorous missile. At the same time, Aya pointed an accusing finger at Yohji. Ken hissed in irritation and went into the house, a muttered "assholes" drifting out behind him. Aya and Yohji looked at each other, and laughed.


End file.
